I really don't know
by Rose of Brisingr
Summary: "I don't know, Fenrir." Loki says quietly, leans slightly to the side of a dried out spit of blood clots. Drops of azure cover the bare ground. Loki looks at the unnaturally bright liquid and agony darkens his eyes. " I really don't know. " he repeats.


Hello my dear readers :)

This is a little scene which came into my mind long ago. It's about Fenrir, the big wolf in nordic mythology who shall kill Odin in Ragnarok and is (by the way) one of Loki's children :).

I wrote about their situation after Loki has escaped the prison he was put in, taking Fenrir with him who was captured in Asgard, too.

Comments are always appreciated ^^

* * *

Fenrir sets back his ears.

The wind ruffles his thick, midnight black fur. Outside smells of damp wood and wet grass are wafting. He hears the rain pounding down harshly on the forest earthforest and furious thunder in the distance. _'The evil man is angry. He is searching for us. '_ he thinks and moves instinctively closer to his father's resting body. He has fallen asleep from exhaustion. Their escape was not easy.

Fenrir presses himself against the smooth fabric of his ripped clothes and continues to listen to the storm. He wants to growl, but he remains in the silence, which is offered by the cave they hide in.

For two hours, they wait here. But it does not really matter to Fenrir where they are and how long they have to stay. It is only important to him that they won't be separated again. Never again.

With melancholy he remembers the loneliness that he had to endure. The pain. The agony. The mockery.  
And the pastern. This cruel, merciless bondage. If he concentrates, he can still feel the razor strap cutting his sore throat. And he is alone, all alone. Around him soldiers are watching but he is still alone, because they are soldiers of Asgard. Enemies. They used to play with him, wrestling with him. Previously, he trusted all of them, they were his friends, his playmates. But that was long ago. The betrayal runs deep. Deep as the bottom of the ocean. Deep as Jormungandr's sleep.

The body beside him moves. Fenrir notices the slightly changed breathing.  
_Father __awake?_ he asks, but he realizes quite quickly that he is mistaken. The eyes of his father are closed, his waxen face smooth and washed up of all the wrinkles of worry. He looks peaceful. But weak. Fenrir looks at him for a long moment. A node swells in his chest, puts hooks in his flesh.  
His father. That they have taken his father away from him, he'll never forgive. Can't. All the wasted years of parting are too much to grieve about.  
He has never known his mother. His father only created a vague shape of his past. He was very young when they surprised him in his sleep and docked the chain. _'__Abortion'_ they called him_. __'__Beast'. __'Monster_'.  
_Monster_ ... the real monsters were THEM. Always them…

Fenrir embeds his snout into the warm lap and this time he cannot suppress a faint whimper struggling in his gorge. The familiar scent of velvet and magic hovers around his senses, fogged with sweet gravity. It's been so long. He has missed him so much. It does hurt to think about it, but he cannot help it.

Then.

Slender fingers in his fur. On his forehead. A stroking on his forehead. A crawl under his chin. A voice that wispers to him softly, comforting. Love in every syllable falling from the silver tongue.  
When Fenrir would have been capable of it, he sighed. Or shed some tears. Probably both.  
_Father?_ he asks. A few feet away from them lightning strikes anew. _Father, __why do they do__that?__Why do they hate__us__so much__? __We__haven't__done anything__! _.  
He wants to speak, to form words with his lips but is not able to. He is a wolf and he cannot do more than whine and growl. His sorrow he complains to the moon with a long-drawn howl.

Patiently as ever Loki strokes through his son's fur. He cannot read minds. But the eyes of the wolf are an open book to him. A mirror of his own shattered soul. A look says more than thousand words.

"I don't know, Fenrir." Loki says quietly, leans slightly to the side of a dried out spit of blood clots. Drops of azure cover the bare ground. Loki looks at the unnaturally bright liquid and agony darkens his eyes.

" I really don't know. " he repeats.

And this time it sounds almost honest.


End file.
